


Conor Ancient Warrior

by wheel_pen



Series: Loose Gems [37]
Category: Fish Tank (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Warrior - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:58:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7555702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Michael Fassbender’s movie Fish Tank. A temple virgin captured during a raid meets a foreign warrior in the enemy camp, who may not be as bad as she was led to believe. A few scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conor Ancient Warrior

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things.   
> Inherent in slavery and other forms of subjugation are dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, and violence.  
> I hope you enjoy this alternate universe, which I own nothing from.
> 
> Guest-starring James McAvoy as Robbie

 

Conor was bone-tired after the battle, but he couldn’t be seen to slump; that would look too defeated, and they had won a decent victory today. Could’ve been better. But there was some plunder, and the sight of the enemy retreating back behind their walls was always cheering.

His hut had already been set up on the beach and he approached it gratefully, looking forward to cleaning up and resting. Though, after a brief nap to sate their immediate needs, he and the other soldiers would probably be back up in a couple hours, wandering around restlessly and looking for trouble.

He almost didn’t see Robbie as he passed and the younger man caught his arm. It was a familiar gesture; Robbie was one of the few allowed that privilege, and he gave a lopsided smirk at Conor’s slow reaction.

“I left a surprise for you in your hut,” he claimed mischievously.

Conor recalled other surprises Robbie had left him. “If it smells, it’s going in _your_ hut next,” he tossed back.

Robbie laughed. “No, you’ll like this surprise,” he insisted. “We found her in the temple. I think she’s meant to be a virgin.”

Conor narrowed his eyes. “Is she _still_ a virgin?” This was a brutal age, and soldiers were often driven by the thought of all they could steal from the losing side; but Conor attempted to enforce _some_ few rules of conduct on his men.

Robbie held up his hands placatingly. “As much as when she entered the temple,” he promised. “The others were much more sensible and fled before we arrived.”

“So you’ve left me an insensible virgin,” Conor surmised dryly. “Thank you, that sounds like a wonderful night.” By which he meant just the opposite, his sleep no doubt interrupted by her weeping. Robbie merely laughed heartlessly and walked away.

Well, at least Conor had been warned.

Steeling himself he walked into his hut and stopped just inside the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. There was a fire in the brazier and a white lump on his bed, which held very still as he approached. He could already smell her, a light but heady floral scent that one never found in an army camp.

Conor walked to the foot of the bed and looked her over briefly, his impression one of pale skin, dark hair, and features that were delicate but with a wary quickness, like a wild animal that had swiftly learned to distrust man. Maybe she would be resilient enough to survive, then.

He left her and went to the fire, first cleaning his weapons and shield, the light glinting off the polished metal as the dried blood was scraped off. They would need more extensive repairs in the morning. He kept one ear on the girl, who shifted around slightly but didn’t attempt to leave.

Then he stripped off his armor, the hardened leather pulling away from his skin with a slick pop. Conor hissed as the injuries previously held in place were now free to move about—none serious, merely annoying. He set the pieces aside for cleaning in the morning by one of the page boys and pulled his sweat-soaked trousers off, along with his boots.

The slight breeze from the hut doorway felt glorious on his naked skin—he could hear some of the men laughing and shouting as they swam in the nearby river, and he thought about joining them. But then he decided he was too tired, and set about scrubbing himself down with a wet cloth. He really wanted a _hot_ bath, but that would have to wait until they returned to civilization.

Conor glanced over at the girl and she turned away quickly, as if she _hadn’t_ been staring at the naked man in the silhouette cast by the fire. He smirked to himself and pulled a light tunic on—normally he might have slept without any clothing, but one must be sensible about virgins, even if _they_ weren’t. _Especially_ if they weren’t.

Turning to face the bed, Conor took a long drink of wine and picked up a few hunks of bread from a platter nearby. Tomorrow he would be starving, but for right now this would do. The girl watched him cautiously, sensing she was the next thing on his list. She was right.

Conor stalked forward slowly, like a panther, maintaining eye contact with her until he was close enough to lean down and climb onto the bed. Then she startled and tried to get away, but at that point it was easy to wrap his arms around her and pull her close, twitching like a bird in a cage.

“You’re alright,” he told her, in the voice he used for wounded animals. “You’re alright, I won’t hurt you. What’s your name?”

She refused to answer. He assumed they spoke the same language, everyone in this region did. He loosened his hold to only one arm, brushing the other through her dark hair. “My name is Conor,” he introduced. “Why is your hair so short?”

“They cut it at the temple,” she finally answered, hesitantly.

“Your god demands a sacrifice of hair? Interesting.” The things you learned about other places. “In the army we keep our hair short so the enemy can’t grab it! Also hygiene, of course. What’s your name?” he tried again, now that the conversation had gotten rolling. He leaned in and sniffed at her hair, letting the scent take him to a sunny meadow far away from here.

He almost missed her answer. “What?”

“Mia,” she repeated softly.

“Mmm, that’s a beautiful name,” he complimented, brushing his lips across the back of her neck. The gesture made her shiver, but probably not in the way he hoped for. “No, stay here,” he told her, pulling her back against him. “You’re alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He slid her impractical and tattered robe off her shoulder; she clutched it over her chest, but her back was bared to his inspection. “Please let me go,” she requested, her tone hopeless.

Conor pressed a kiss against her spine, as if she might find that soothing. “It would be dangerous for you, if I let you go,” he explained, loosening the fabric around her waist. “You’re in the middle of an army camp. A lot of men who haven’t seen anything as fresh and clean as you for a long time.” Her skin was so soft where he touched it.

He tugged at the dress covering her chest. “I just want to look,” he promised her. “You’re alright, I won’t hurt you.” The fabric came away and she covered herself with her arms, which was alright for the moment. He turned her in the dim light, checking for bruises, any sort of injury.

“Just let me see,” he purred in her ear, stretching out one arm, then the other. He brought her fingers closer for inspection—her fingernails were clean, nothing under them as though she’d scratched at an attacker.

Of course he had to check her breasts, because one might naturally go for them first in a fit of violence, but they were unblemished, not to mention heavy and warm in his hands. He let them go with reluctance.

“Did my men hurt you?” he murmured, tugging the fabric off her hips. She shook her head, chin trembling. “Hmm?” he prompted, his hands stroking down her thighs as he shoved the gown away. “Tell me now if they did.”

“No,” she whispered. She was shaking, mainly fear though she might have found the night cool. Gently he caressed down her legs, drawing them up and laying her down for a closer look. Fantastic skin that a princess would kill for.

“How long were you at the temple?” Conor asked curiously, turning her to face him so he could check her other side.

“A few months.”

“Where did you live before that?”

“With my parents. Please—“

He was trying to slide a hand between her thighs, which were clamped together with admirable strength. “Mia.” He tried to meet her gaze but she hid her face, so he leaned down to murmur in her ear. “Mia, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to look.”

She let him tip her on her back, hands still covering her face; he could hear her sniffling behind them. It was difficult to convince people you were trustworthy with mere words; it took time to build, to convince them you meant what you said. So for right now, there would be tears as she tried to accept what she felt was inevitable, weighing resistance with the fear of injury.

“I’m not going to hurt you, just let me look,” he repeated softly, easing her legs apart. Creamy skin, no bruises or blood. He trusted Robbie, but he didn’t know how the whole battle had gone down, if the girl might have been caught by someone else first. But apparently not.

“Okay. There you go.” Conor let her go, and she peeked through her fingers at him, then put her back to him, curling up tight. He slid his hand around the curve of her hip, making her cringe. “That position is no deterrent,” he teased, but unsurprisingly, this did not relax her. With reluctance he rolled off the bed and rummaged in the sacks of loot he’d won, digging out some kind of dress-tunic-thing. Well, it had seemed valuable at the time, being a fine fabric almost as soft as Mia’s skin, but afterwards he remembered why fine fabrics didn’t last long on the march. At least now it would get some use before being destroyed.

“Here, put this on. Put your head—Fine, figure it out yourself,” Conor allowed, when she reacted like he was trying to smother her. He went back to the fire. “Are you hungry? I’ll feed you.”

“No,” Mia claimed, tugging the fabric down. It was too big, but that was better than too small.

There were some olives and figs waiting for him; these more southerly lands at least had a wider variety of food than Conor usually got. “Last chance on the food,” he warned, spitting an olive pit into a waste bucket.

She said nothing, ignoring him. That was why so few people in Conor’s position bothered showing patience; they were too insecure to handle people taking it for granted, and disrespecting them. Conor merely rolled his eyes, ate what he wanted, then went back to the bed.

Mia tensed when he climbed in behind her, and he wrapped an arm around her waist and yanked her firmly back against him. He wouldn’t keep her there all night; at some point he’d be too warm. But for now he hoped it made his point.

“You belong to me now, Mia,” he murmured in her ear. Let that be the last thing she heard, before drifting into an uneasy sleep.

**

“Mia, wake up.” Someone was shaking her, and for a moment she wondered if she’d slept through the morning devotionals again—she was cold enough for it. But then her memories of the attack on the temple filtered back in, and she jerked her eyes open and sat up sharply.

This move startled the man who had been speaking to her. “It’s okay, calm down,” he advised, in a studiously soothing tone. “Are you alright? How do you feel?” He reached a hand towards her and Mia yanked away; he froze in mid-air, holding her gaze, then resumed his movement, gently touching her forehead and cheek.

“I was afraid you had caught a fever,” he went on, “but you seem alright. Were you that cold at night?” He had dark hair, slightly curly, and high cheekbones with piercing blue eyes above them; shirtless, he crouched effortlessly beside the bed in leather trousers, his body slim but well-muscled. They didn’t get a lot of young, fit men at the temple, mainly elderly priests. She realized she was staring and dropped her gaze with a blush.

There was a smirk in his tone. “Your cheeks do look a little pink now,” he pointed out. “I was going to let you go outside today, but maybe I ought to keep you in bed.”

He was the teasing sort, though that was far better treatment than Mia had been expecting from him. The enemy soldiers would rip her to pieces like wild dogs, was what she had always been told; but so far this one had been gentle with her. Perhaps he was just biding his time.

“May I—answer the call of nature?” she asked him carefully.

Immediately he moved out of her way. “Of course. There’s bushes behind the hut.” Tentatively she got out of bed, gathering the oversized robe around her for warmth and watching him for any sudden movements.

He turned back to a sack he’d been digging in. “Mia.” She froze at the doorway. “Don’t wander off. You’re still in an army camp.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and hurried outside. It was far too cold and damp to attempt an escape anyway.

She lingered outside only a moment longer than necessary, savoring the fresh quiet; she remembered mornings like these from when she was younger, being the first awake at the bakery, in the whole town it sometimes seemed. Wishing the peacefulness could last forever, which was of course impossible.

Mia ducked back inside the hut, acutely aware of Conor’s presence. She hung back shyly, then hurried over to the smoldering brazier when he left it, trying to warm herself up.

“You really find this weather cold?” he asked her with some disbelief. “You are not going to last long at my home, it’s much colder there.”

This left her thinking about a long journey to a distant land, away from everything she knew, subject to this man’s whims, and she shivered. Everyone knew of someone who had been captured in a battle or raid; some had been ransomed back, but there would be no such reprieve for Mia. Speculation on what happened to them was rampant, and never good.

“Well, at least you aren’t going to be talking my ear off,” Conor commented dryly. “Here, I found something for you to wear.” He held up a pair of leather trousers and a loose shirt.

He seemed very proud of himself and Mia didn’t want to anger him, but—“Trousers?” she asked with uncertainty. “Aren’t they for men?”

Conor rolled his eyes. “How does that matter? These are clean.” He checked them again to make sure. “You’re not going to walk around in a billowing white gown, so put these on or stay inside.”

Mia did not really understand what he meant by ‘going outside,’ if that was more than the bushes; but if she had any hope of—well, escape seemed too risky, but any hope of avoiding confinement, she wanted to take it. “Thank you,” she replied, accepting the trousers. Then she had to figure out how to put them on, while trying to retain both her modesty and her balance.

She ended up sitting on the bed, trying to scootch the fabric up both legs at the same time. When Conor caught a glimpse he stifled a chuckled—and another when Mia inadvertently glared at him for a moment—and swiftly knelt at her feet.

“No, it’s okay,” he claimed, as she made a move to get away. “It’s okay. Let me help you. I suppose it’s confusing if you’ve never worn them before,” he allowed, though he still sounded quite amused. “It helps if you loosen these ties first. Then the trousers become looser, and you can pull them up easier.”

This did indeed seem to be key, and after a moment Mia stood and gathered the leather up around her waist, under the gown. “What do I do now?” she questioned in confusion. This seemed far more complicated than a dress.

Conor rose smoothly, towering over her, and she realized she was trapped between him and the bed. Her heart started to pound, especially when he reached under her dress to slide his hands across the smooth leather covering her hips. “What you do now,” he told her, smirk still in place, “is tighten these ties.” He gave a yank, and the cords wound around Mia’s legs pulled taut, wrapping the fabric closely against her. Without looking Conor wound the ties around her waist, then tied them in front. When he stepped back, the trousers stayed up on their own.

“Well, let’s see,” he insisted, and she hiked the gown up to about her knees and walked around the hut, feeling awkward and confined. “Take off that dress, and put this on instead,” he instructed, handing her the brown woven shirt. He waited expectantly. Pushing her luck, Mia hesitated. After a moment he rolled his eyes and put his back to her, and she wasted no time switching the garments.

“Don’t—“ Mia was about to protest him turning back around, but thought better of it. “It’s—it’s too short, don’t you think?” she asked of the shirt. She felt almost naked, standing there with her legs defined to anyone who walked by. She tried to tug the hem of the shirt lower.

Conor clearly liked the view, though, circling her appreciatively. “No, it’s too big, actually,” he judged. He lifted the shirt in back to check out her rear end, the trousers leaving little to the imagination in her opinion. “Try tucking it in. And let’s add this.”

He went off to his bags again while Mia tried, with limited success, to force the shirt fabric down into the trousers. Conor returned with a leather vest, generously assisting her. “I’m not usually putting the clothes _on_ ,” he informed her cheekily. “But I can hardly send you out naked. Here.”

He fastened the vest across her stomach, the design supporting her breasts more comfortably but also making them more obvious than in just the loose-fitting shirt. “This is better than naked?” she risked, and he laughed, his grin displaying too many teeth.

“This is how we dress,” he assured her. “You’ll blend right in. Even your hair is right.” He ruffled the short strands, beginning teasingly but turning it more into a caress. Mia tensed, breath held, and he pulled back. Logically she didn’t think he would go to the trouble of dressing her, just to take everything off again immediately; the trousers at least made such attentions a little more difficult. On the other hand, logic seemed to play little part in the world these days. “I’ll get your boots,” he decided instead, and then helped her put them on, surveying his handiwork with satisfaction.

“I think I’ve discovered a new talent,” he claimed. “When I get back home, I’ll give up soldiering and open a ladies’ dress shop.”

He said this so seriously that Mia almost laughed; but then she caught herself after only a little hiccup, because while the idea was absurd the larger situation was still horrible, and she oughtn’t to stand there laughing with her captor as though they were friends. Conor watched the emotions contort her face and raised an eyebrow.

“Alright, get out, then,” he dismissed. “Come back before dark. Don’t go into the main camp, stay in this one.”

She knew she ought to race out the door while she could. “Could I—is there anything to eat?” she asked instead.

“Oh, _now_ you’re hungry, hmm?” Conor asked, but he was heading for a platter of food near the brazier. “I thought temple virgins survived on faith alone. Here, take this with you,” he continued, dumping some nuts and fruit into a bag. “I’ve got things to do.”

Mia took the bag and nodded, ready to make her escape from the hut (if not anywhere else), but at the last minute Conor took her arm and brought her up short, his blue eyes boring into hers. “Mia. You belong to me now,” he reminded her, as he’d said the night before. “If anyone bothers you, let me know. My name’s Conor, in case you forgot,” he added in a lighter tone. “Everyone knows me.”

He seemed to be waiting for her acknowledgement. “Conor,” she repeated.

He let her go. “Alright. Get.” Mia wasted no time leaving him.

The sun had risen higher and the camp was busier than when she’d been out before—more muscular men, leather-clad if they were clad at all, often with scars hacked into their bodies, sat outside their huts cleaning equipment and chatting with one another. Conor didn’t have any scars, not that she’d noticed anyway. A few young boys ran about as well, arms laden and faces conveying the serious purpose of their errands.

People looked at her as she passed, but didn’t really stare; they just went back to their business without addressing her. Which was good. She ate her breakfast numbly, finding it disorienting and surreal to be wandering freely through an enemy camp, in foreign clothes—almost like she was in disguise. The trousers _were_ freeing, in their way—no need to worry about tripping on a hem, or an errant breeze showing more than she’d intended. She could step more confidently, crouch at the river for a drink without worrying about her attire. It was novel.

Mia walked around for quite a while, even growing bored with the seemingly endless rows of huts, before someone spoke to her. “Hey there.” She had a glimpse of a young man, in similar clothes to her though without a shirt under the vest, but she kept walking, ignoring him. “Hey, girl,” he tried again, moving to follow her.

Her heart started to pound as she walked away faster, moving anywhere that was _away_ even though she knew she should turn back to the center, where there were other people who might at least _see_ what was happening even if they didn’t help her—

“Hey, girl, stop,” he said again, grabbing her hand.

Mia whirled to face him, catching him off-guard, and blurted, “I belong to Conor!”

The young man grinned, charming and roguish; he also had high cheekbones and bright blue eyes—some characteristic of their race, perhaps? “I know,” he assured her cheerfully. “I brought you to his hut last night.”

“Oh,” Mia responded dully, feeling slight relief.

“I suppose you had other things on your mind,” he allowed pleasantly. “I’m Robbie.”

“Mia,” she told him.

“Mia? That’s exotic,” he decided. “I can’t believe Conor found those clothes for you, well done.”

“Thank you.” It didn’t really seem like a compliment of _her_ , but she wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Where are you going?” Robbie inquired curiously, and Mia shrugged.

“Just walking around. Conor said I could,” she added.

“Well you shouldn’t leave the Uillos’ camp,” Robbie advised, “and you’re right at the edge.”

“The what?” Mia asked, unfamiliar with the term he’d used.

“The Uillos,” Robbie repeated. “That’s us. Me and Conor and the others in this section. He’s our captain—Have you never heard of the Uillos?” He seemed disappointed by this. “Famous fierce warriors…? No?”

“Sorry,” Mia offered. “We didn’t get a lot of outside news at the temple.” Just being ‘the enemy’ was enough, there was no need to further distinguish them.

“Oh, well. We’re from the Fair Isle, across the Green Strait,” Robbie described. “You’ve heard of that, at least?”

“Yes,” Mia replied, a bit pointedly. She wasn’t _totally_ ignorant of the world.

“Well _anyway_ , the Uillos are very disciplined, we won’t bother you,” Robbie continued confidently, “but you’re not safe in the rest of the camp.” He clearly had a certain disdain for the soldiers from other groups. “Well, if you were _alone_ ,” he corrected, with a rascally glint in his eye. “You want to go over? I’ll go with you.”

Since they’d just finish acknowledging that it was dangerous _and_ Conor had said she shouldn’t, Mia shook her head. “No, I’ll go back towards the center—“

“Oh, come on.” Robbie suddenly reminded her of her little brother, who was equally charming and equally prone to mischief. He took her hand. “Let’s just go peek in and see what they’re up to. Bet they won’t even notice us.” He headed confidently towards the trees, Mia in tow. She didn’t resist but didn’t explicitly _agree_ , either, mainly curious to see what happened and what was expected of her.

Robbie made a show of sneaking through the line of trees; Mia could not be as stealthy, and didn’t see any reason to try, as there were no sentries posted. “Get down,” Robbie hissed suddenly, and they crouched behind a bush. “There, you see?” he whispered, and she peeked through the limbs of the shrub.

On the other side lay a vast camp of huts and tents—so huge Mia could not see where it ended. These were the meadows downstream of the city, where peasants let their livestock roam; those that hadn’t been driven to safer pastures in time had been penned up by the soldiers, or likely accounted for the scent of roasting meat in the air.

The number of men, of the _enemy_ , was too great for Mia to comprehend; she could only imagine this endless horde battering against the walls of her city, violence and death defiling everything they touched, and tears burned in her eyes.

Robbie, unaware of her reaction, snickered suddenly. “Here comes one,” he pointed out, as a bedraggled soldier—the first individual Mia had seen—staggered away from the huts to relieve himself at the forest’s edge. He let out a great belch, then passed out right into his own mess.

Robbie nearly fell over laughing, while Mia tried to avoid being sick. “They’re all drunk,” he judged, as a few more men, looking equally ill-equipped for the morning, began to stir. “Drunk as _toads_. That’s how they celebrate a victory, instead of preparing for the next fight.”

He obviously looked down on this behavior, and was waiting for Mia to do the same. “The camp seems messier,” she suggested. Equipment, or maybe debris, was strewn carelessly about, while the Uillos’ camp had been very neat and orderly.

“Exactly,” Robbie agreed heartily. “What a bunch of slobs! It’s embarrassing.” He laughed again. “Alright, let’s go.”

He took Mia’s hand again and led her confidently back the way they’d come. “What’d you want to be a temple virgin for, anyway?” he asked curiously, out of the blue.

Mia was not prepared to give an in-depth answer. “It’s better than a lot of other things a girl might have to do,” she noted, and Robbie snorted, as though such considerations didn’t exist in his society. “Don’t you have temple virgins on the Fair Isle?”

“Not really,” he claimed. “Well, there’s religious houses for unwanted girls, who couldn’t find anyone to marry them and didn’t want to live alone,” he decided, with the carelessness of a young man who had never had to contemplate such a fate for himself. “They’re not required to be virgins, though. In fact they’re probably not!” he added cheekily. “A girl ought to know a little something about the world before she gives it up, don’t you think? Not much of a sacrifice otherwise.”

He was waiting for her answer, but Mia was uncomfortable with the conversation. “We’re not really encouraged to think about it,” she noted vaguely, which made Robbie laugh pleasantly.

“No, I suppose that would defeat the purpose!” he agreed. “Do you know where you are now? I’ll just take you back to Conor’s hut,” he decided prudently, seeing that she didn’t.

“Thank you.”

He was trying to explain to her how the camp was laid out, which seemed perfectly sensible to _him_ , when suddenly they were stopped by the largest man Mia had ever seen—muscular as an ox, Robbie’s head didn’t even come up to his shoulder.

“Hey Robbie,” he greeted gruffly. “Some battle yesterday, huh? Pretty s----y garrison they had at the temple, though.”

“Hey, Mac. Have you seen the main camp?” Robbie asked gleefully. “Drunken slobs this morning.”

Mac snorted, unsurprised. Then his eyes fell on Mia. She felt like an insect next to him. “I don’t recognize you,” he commented, and gave her shoulder a shove that would have sent her sprawling, if Robbie hadn’t moved to catch her.

“Easy there, Mac!” he protested. “This is Conor’s new girl, she was captured from the temple yesterday.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Mac replied. “Why’s she dressed like a Fate, then?”

Robbie looked as though he hadn’t realized this; Mia had no idea what the large man was talking about. “I don’t know,” Robbie admitted, adding cheekily, “You should ask Conor why he has women’s clothing around!”

“Too dangerous,” Mac declined. “Where’s Keira? I want to have a javelin-throwing contest.”

Robbie shrugged. “Dunno, she was up before me today. Oh, she said something about them bathing in the river,” he remembered. “Best stay away, unless you want your eyes put out.”

Mac huffed. “Well, I’ll go eat something,” he decided, and walked away.

“Okay, see you later!” Robbie called after him. “Not the best conversationalist in the bunch,” he commented dryly to Mia. She rubbed her shoulder and he asked with concern, “Oh, are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay,” she judged. Just slightly rattled at the idea that giants went around shoving people they didn’t recognize. Well why wouldn’t they, she supposed. “Why did he do that?”

“Oh, it’s just a warrior thing,” Robbie explained. “Next time just shove him back as hard as you can.”

“I probably won’t,” Mia admitted, and Robbie laughed.

“It’s because of how you’re dressed,” he went on, as they continued through the camp, “like one of the Blue Fates—have you heard of _them_? Fierce warrior women?”

“Warrior _women_?” Mia repeated with disbelief.

“You don’t have any of your own, I guess,” Robbie surmised, and Mia shook her head. “They’re from the mountains in the north of the Fair Isle. But no one else in the army would let them march, until Conor said they could join the Uillos. He’s our captain,” he added. “Was that mentioned before? Anyway they are pretty d—n scary. And you do kind of look like one, especially with your short hair.”

Mia did not know what to say to that. Warrior women, and no temple virgins, and soldiers who—so far, under very limited circumstances—had not been completely horrible? This had been a very strange day for her, which if Conor had his way, was apparently just the beginning of a very strange life. Compared to the life she knew, that she was leaving behind, she thought she ought to be more afraid.

“See, there he is!” Robbie pointed out Conor, now more dressed, crouched next to a boy in front of his hut, both of them examining a sword. He glanced up at Robbie, then stood.

“Well, take it to the blacksmith, then,” he told the boy, who hurried off. “You’ve found trouble, haven’t you,” he went on with a smirk. It was unclear whether he was talking to Mia or Robbie.

“We went to the main camp!” Robbie confessed merrily, and Mia cringed away as Conor reacted.

“That was a f-----g stupid idea!” he exclaimed.

Robbie just laughed, though. “We were just on the edge. Tell him how drunk they were,” he encouraged Mia.

“Drunk as toads,” she responded quickly, having been unable to forget the odd saying, and both men laughed heartily.

“Don’t pick up his bad habits,” Conor advised, draping an arm around Mia’s shoulders and pulling her close. She winced a bit and Robbie jumped in.

“Careful there—“

“Did you get her hurt?” Conor accused, lifting his arm from her.

“No, we just ran into Mac—“ Robbie indicated her shoulder and Conor was intent on seeing it, tugging away at the neckline of her shirt.

“It’s okay—“ Mia claimed, not wanting to be disrobed.

“What’d you dress her as a Fate for, anyway?” Robbie wanted to know, and Conor huffed.

“Did you tell him how long we spent on clothing this morning?” he asked Mia dryly. He settled for getting his hand inside her shirt, probing at the joint with surprising gentleness. She felt her face flush. “Well how else was I supposed to dress her?” he said to Robbie, finally pulling his hand away. He draped his arm around Mia’s waist instead, keeping her close. “I’m not going to send her out looking like a camp whore.” Robbie nodded in agreement, then suddenly his eyes widened in alarm.

“S—t!” he exclaimed. Conor waited. “I’ve been walking around with her. Someone’s going to tell Keira I was seen with another Fate—“

Conor found his friend’s distress extremely amusing. “Serves you right,” he claimed. Then, “Are you hungry? Are they cooking something at the center?”

“Yes,” Robbie agreed, as though he understood what Conor was getting at.

“Well let’s go get something to eat,” Conor encouraged, taking Mia’s hand. “Then people will see her with me instead.”

“Brilliant. Thanks!” Robbie added, having been genuinely worried for a moment. Mia supposed that a fierce warrior woman was not someone you crossed.

**

_A while later_ …

Conor assumed they’d made it back to the right hut; they all looked rather alike, didn’t they? Well, no one complained when they stumbled through the doorway, laughing at nothing. Victory declared, a celebratory feast, and in a couple days they would be returning home—he could hardly ask for anything more at this moment.

Well, maybe _one_ thing more.

“Did I tell you, you look beautiful?” he said to Mia, pulling her close. She’d turned some scraps of fabric into a striking dress, and the wine they’d been drinking brought color to her cheeks.

“You did,” she assured him, and bit her lip, drawing his gaze to them. He was thinking seriously of kissing her, if his coordination wasn’t too impaired.

Before he could try Mia stretched up and brushed her lips against his, which was all the incentive he needed to dive in. She didn’t know how to kiss and he wasn’t exactly at his best, but he thought the passion, the pent-up energy from having waited _this long_ , made up for any awkwardness.

At least until they found themselves tumbling to the floor. “I thought the bed was—“ Conor began, looking around in confusion.

“Do we need a bed?” Mia asked breathlessly, and boldly straddled his lap to continue kissing. Automatically he began to slide his hands up her legs, under her dress; he could feel the heat radiating from her, taste the salt on her skin, hear her little moans that were sparking a sense of urgency within him.

Carefully, if inelegantly, Conor lifted Mia and laid her out on the floor of the hut, keeping his weight on his forearms as he devoured her lips, planning what he was going to do with her next. Then a voice in the back of his head, which he really wanted to ignore but couldn’t once he’d heard it, suggested this was all a bad idea.

“No,” he decided with disappointment, reining himself in even as he couldn’t quite keep his lips off her skin. “No, we can’t do this now.” Staggering only slightly, he pulled her to her feet.

“What? Why not?” Mia asked, clinging to his shoulders. She had finally worked up the nerve, the right attitude, to enjoy the man who had been showing her such unexpectedly gentle affection, and she didn’t want to lose the moment.

“You’re drunk, I’m drunk,” Conor pointed out, steering her towards the bed, more successfully this time. “It won’t be very good, and I want it to be good, for your first time.”

Mia giggled, a wobbly gurgle that he could feel in her throat as he kissed her. “It won’t be my first time,” she countered, apparently under the impression this would sway him.

It merely took a second to percolate through his brain, and then he took her shoulders and held her back a few inches, so he could see her face. “Wait, what?” he demanded, feeling alarmingly sober. He went with his first fear. “Did one of the soldiers—“

“No,” she denied. Intoxication helped her find his consternation amusing. “Wasn’t actually a virgin when I entered the temple,” she confessed conspiratorially. “My mother told the priest I was!”

Well, that _was_ kind of funny, and Conor relaxed. “Naughty girl!” he teased her. They still weren’t going to do anything, because his reasoning still held; but he had to admit he was somewhat relieved she knew what to expect. “Go on, lie down. Are you cold?” He draped a blanket over her and made himself move away a few steps, to undress and clean up a little. Tomorrow morning they would both be hungover; but maybe by tomorrow afternoon they could make good on this beginning.

“So you had a boyfriend in town?” he surmised, curious. Young love always found a way—temporarily, at least, until your mother declared you a virgin for life. “Did you sneak out to meet him? You don’t seem the sneaky type to me.” It was fun to picture, though.

“No,” Mia claimed, her voice getting sleepy. “I had a stepfather…”

For the second time Conor froze, and slowly turned around to face her. “What was that?” There was no response, and he went over to the bed to give her a little shake back awake. “Mia, what did you say?” She looked at him blankly and, summoning patience, Conor knelt beside the bed. “What did you say? About your stepfather.”

Her gaze dropped immediately. “Nothing—“ She tried to roll away from him and he stopped her.

“Mia, tell me what happened.” He could readily guess the basics, though.

“My stepfather—“ She shook her head, tears starting to form in her eyes. “My mother caught him—“ Conor waited. “She made sure I wasn’t pregnant, then she took me to the temple. So I wouldn’t tempt him any longer.”

Conor realized his hand was fisting in the blanket and forced himself to relax, then leaned over and kissed her shoulder. “I don’t think you were the problem,” he tried to tell her. Taking advantage of a girl one was supposed to protect was extremely common these days, but to Conor that didn’t make it right.

He could tell Mia didn’t really believe him. “Your god requires virgins serve him,” he tried and Mia nodded. “Did your god punish you, for not being a virgin?”

“I guess not,” she agreed dubiously. “The sacred flame was supposed to rise up and burn me if I was lying, and it didn’t.”

“So maybe your god realized it wasn’t your fault, and shouldn’t count,” he concluded. A god _ought_ to realize that, even if no one else did.

“Maybe,” Mia hedged. She hadn’t thought about it like that before, and was not in a position to think about it much right now.

Conor just hoped his reasoning still made sense in the morning. “Scoot over, I’ll keep you warm,” he told her, and they settled down to sleep.


End file.
